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No Dearth of Fools in This world

One Monsieur Tiramisu perplexed
Decided to hunt fools in the complex
Modesty was his robe which he wore
With unparalleled vanity and pride 
Carried a machete with a daunting task
Wiping out fools before dusk
Stepped out of the house in the icy storm
Looking for a trace of any delinquent in the town 
Not a soul on the slippery road, wondered 
Where have my victims gone tonight 
Saw a bearded homeless by the side 
Have you seen any fool, for I’m on the
Mission to slay them all my friend 
Then you must go home my foe
Make a near precision on your neck
For you are a fool  yourself, Mr. Boskichov
How dare you spoke those words to me
You insolent bastard, I called you a friend 
Don’t underestimate your foolishness Monsieur
For anyone to have an idea of hunting fools 
Stepping out of house in the icy cold wind 
Carrying a machete in the age of gun
Asking a homeless for people’s address
I am talking to someone like you, I am a fool myself
Tanya penning us in poem is bigger fool than us 
Those reading carefully this gibberish text are,
Biggest fools so far yet, a tale of fools read by fools 
There’s is no dearth of fools in this world  my friend!

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